


A touch away, a world away

by Marium



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Temporary Character Death, alternating pov, background Andromache of Scythia/Quynh, not too heavy on the angst tho, on chapters 2 and 3, semi-canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28507680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marium/pseuds/Marium
Summary: He found himself hesitantly reaching out to touch Nico’s hand. Not hold it, just touch it. He didn’t know if he meant to comfort him, comfort himself, or whether there was any difference at all at this point. A sign of sympathy, of partnership, between two men who faced the same void.He was pointedly looking at the fire so he couldn’t tell how Nico reacted to it, but the man wasn’t pulling away, so he assumed it was okay.He knew it wasn’t okay, none of it. But right now he wanted to believe that, with this not-quite-stranger at his side, it might eventually be.It takes them about a year to fall in love, a bit longer to figure it out, and a few centuries to do anything about it.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 9
Kudos: 34





	A touch away, a world away

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, I know these are many centuries for them not to realize they're in love with each other, but hear me out; if they can spend 200+ years without realizng just how much emotional distress Booker's in, then they can avoid their own emotional resolution for twice as long.
> 
> Also, I have barely written for nearly 2 years, so I'm pretty rusty, AND this has no beta. Yikes. Hope you can still enjoy!

Nicolò watched with ever-duller interest as the wound that breached his side slowly healed itself, the skin on both sides slowly pulling itself together in a way only marginally less painful than when it had parted until it was as if it had never been there at all. _Unnatural_ , he thought to himself, although lacking the disgusted energy it’d had weeks ago.

He lazily rolled his head, eyes back again onto the face of the man lying on his back, chest still, only a few meters away from himself, next to the door of the stable he’d been ambushed at. He didn’t look away, didn’t even blink or breathe, eyes itching and lungs burning, until he saw the blood stop flowing from the man’s twin wound and heard a single sharp inhale, immediately followed by calmer ones. Nicolò sighed, letting his head fall back on the wall he was leaning against as he finally felt able to close his eyes.

He quickly realized that, in his efforts to make out Yusuf’s calm breathing, he was trying to match it with his own. He stopped it at once, and as he sternly huffed to himself, he felt some blood dripping down his chin, from when it had pooled in his mouth when he’d been punched so hard and unexpectedly he nearly bit his own tongue off. He didn’t have the energy to be bothered by any of it, barely even notice it.

‘So’, he began after a while, he didn’t even know how long, when he felt relatively sure the man wasn’t going to get up and come kill him again, ‘you cannot die.’

The answer took a few moments. ‘You have killed me twenty-two times, so I’m inclined to believe I can in fact die. But if you mean whether I stay dead, I have to say no.’

‘I cannot die either.’

‘Twenty-five times. You know I have tried my hardest. But no, I must say no to that either.’

Nicolò hummed, and then a soft huff that might have been an attempt at a tired chuckle made its way out of his lips. Prying one eye half-open, he stole a glance at Yusuf, who lied exactly where he was before, one arm tucked under his head as if he was enjoying a calm day in the countryside, eyes on the sky rather than a half-destroyed ceiling that threatened to fall over them at the first breeze. He looked somehow peaceful, and Nicolò found himself studying what his features looked like when he wasn’t screaming in hate or pain. He looked almost friendly. Nice.

In the face of that peacefulness, Nicolò realized his fingers were still wrapped around the hilt of his sword, more blood-red than metal. In that exact moment, a sword seemed such a silly concept that he couldn’t fully wrap his mind around it. What was the point of killing someone? He promptly let it go.

‘I don’t want to kill you anymore’ he said after another long silence. He waited for a reply, an agreement or a mockery. Yusuf produced neither, and Nicolò raised his hand, covering his eyes. ‘I’m not sure why I keep fighting you. Not sure why I’m here at all, either.’

Except he did know. He had been told that he’d find a city full of demons, in dire need of being purified and that he had a chance of taking part in making it happen. Instead, what he had found was a city full of people, with demons nowhere to be seen. It didn’t take long for him to start suspecting there were demons alright, only they were on the wrong side of the wall.

It had been far too easy to focus on the one demon he could find, the one who fitted his idea of what they were supposed to look like, and chase him far and wide, away from the army he’d deserted in the process, away from the city that had surely been sacked and burned by this point. When he was killing Yusuf, it was easy to feel good and righteous again.

Except, what would he do, were Yusuf to never open his eyes again? Nicoló didn’t know. Death after death, feeling Yusuf die under his hands was less of a holy task and more of a pattern he followed because he felt he was supposed to. And then, he realized he’d started dreading the moment Yusuf last exhaled. What would he do, what would he do? Go back to an army that would execute him as a traitor? Go back to a home his sinful state of existence would sully with his mere presence? Face, on his own, the fear of having no answers to what was happening to him, knowing it was by his own hand that he had no one to share that terror with?

No. He’d realized he’d rather never open his eyes again himself than feeling that sort of loneliness. He had to wonder if the strange connection that he felt to Yusuf could be considered any sort of partnership. And he had to hope, against all reason and justice, that the other man had started to think the same. That he also found Nicolò to be the only one who made sense, since he was the only one that made as little sense as himself.

In that long silence, Yusuf had finally decided to grant him his glance. His eyes were stone hard, cold, his lips turned a straight line that could easily morph into a sneer. It didn’t hold the outright hostility it once did, but it still did its job of making Nicolò’s eyes sink to the ground in shame.

‘I’m sorry for invading your home’ he added, weakly. He felt pathetic.

‘Not my home.’ Nicolò’s eyes returned to him. Yusuf was once again looking at the ceiling, as if he couldn’t care less about the situation he was in. ‘My home is far away from here. I could be back there by now, after a long and hard journey, if only I hadn’t had to stay and fight an invasion.’ There it was again, the shame. But before he had time to chastise himself for having spoken, Yusuf went on. ‘In any case, it’s not like I can make you pay in any way I haven’t already tried, so I’ll have to take your apology. For the time being.’

One more moment of silence, and then, a deeply tired, barely strong enough to be heard, ‘I don’t want to kill you anymore, either.’

Nicolò had to wonder, for a moment, whether Yusuf might actually feel just as lost without him. He rejected the idea, chased the thought out of his head, and said nothing. Nonetheless, he willed up a weak smile, even if no one was to cast their eyes upon it.

‘Do you also dream of two women?’

Yusuf was again looking at him, unblinking as he asked. Nicolò searched the man’s eyes, looking for something he wasn’t sure what it was. He nodded.

‘Two women, black-haired, riders who fight like no man I’ve ever seen. Every couple days at the very least.’

Yusuf nodded, satisfied. He got onto his feet, and despite all the blood that covered him, not a groan escaped his lips as he did so. He rolled his neck, his shoulders, and looked down at Nicolò, high and mighty. Indifferent.

‘I will find them. It’s the same to me whether you come with me or not.’

Nicolò quietly accepted the implicit invitation with a nod and a slight smile. Yusuf didn’t smile back, nor did he offer his hand to help him up, but when they stepped out of the building, they did so in peace. Dread and doubts arose to his mind, of course they did, but Nicolò quietened them for the time being, and instead allowed himself to tentatively consider it a good sign. He and Yusuf were not marching against one another, but towards something, together.

___

‘Alright, so what did you see last night?’

He sighed. ‘They were on horses, they were fighting. Same as always.’

‘I know, but anything else? I think I saw someone else… A man with a wagon, I believe.’

A hum.

‘Good, good. We’re still seeing the same things. I think it might have been a merchant. Do you think it could have been the silk road?’

Yusuf sighed once again, rubbing his brow with his thumb and index finger. ‘What does it matter? We don’t know what any of this means, or if those women are even real. Even if they are, who’s to say that what we’re seeing is happening now and not in the past? None of this makes any sense.’

Nicolò raised his freakishly expressive eyes, glaring, lips thin, and Yusuf could tell the man was stopping himself from snapping at him. Yusuf, on his part, stopped himself from derisively laughing back. He currently felt a great deal of frustration towards… Well, everything, and he was well aware he was being contrary, on a great degree, just for the sake of it. He’d lecture himself on maturity later on; for now, he just raised his eyebrow at Nicolò, and snorted to himself when the man huffed in frustration.

Yes, maturity. Later.

‘Look, you’re the one who said you wanted to find them, and those dreams are all we have to go on. We have to do _something_. So either cooperate, or tell me whether you’re hiding something from me.’

‘I’m not’ Yusuf conceded, and rolled his eyes at the conceited smile on the other man’s face. He set his eyes back on the map that lied between them, frowning at it, and started muttering to himself.

‘Alright, so the silk route. That doesn’t really narrow it down all that much, I’m afraid. It goes quite a way east, more or less around here… How far exactly does it go?’

Yusuf allowed himself to simply stop paying attention, just for a little while, to what the crusader was saying, which wasn’t going be enlightening to either of them in any case. The tiredness that had taken hold of his spirit ever since he first met this man had barely relented in the two weeks since they last had died at the other’s hand, and, to be honest, it might be getting worse. He felt a constant, dull ache just behind his eyes, and no matter how good a matress he paid for, it was never gone come morning.

What exactly had he done to earn having this strange man so violently thrown into his life, he wondered?

His parents had never made him aware of any lacking as a son they might have found in him. He’d been a kind older brother to his siblings and had looked out for them, and had always been polite and considerate with his neighbors and friends. He’d taken charge of every single task his father gave him without a single complain. He’d prayed daily and honestly. Instead of running home when he had the chance, he’d stayed and helped defend from invaders, as much as he could.

Now, he was to share the same path as one of those very invaders.

God forgive him, but he was angry.

It certainly didn’t help that Nicoló seemed to be so calm about all of this. Either he wasn’t bothered, or he was far too hermetic in his exchanges with Yusuf. He didn’t know which one annoyed him most. In either case, an uneasiness simmered in his gut and left him struggling with merely sitting down and discussing some itinerary that neither of them knew where it would led. He wanted to do _something_ , but every time he tried to, he realized he didn’t know what that something was. Maybe merely scream.

He drowned half his tea in one go, the heat scorching his tongue and throat and promptly disappearing mere seconds later. It wouldn’t do him any good to lose his temper. Instead, he chose to study Nicolò, the nearest thing he could focus on.

The man’s profile wasn’t appealing, per se, but it was hard not to feel some degree of fascination for it, with that nose and those eyes, now squinted in concentration. There was something about it that demanded attention, something strange that had nothing to do with his foreign origin, different than the features of the other invaders he’d crossed paths with. It was purely Nicolò. It was confusing. When he looked for too long, Yusuf caught himself feeling curiosity as to what it would be like to trace his thumb along those lines, look closer into those eyes, figure out how it all had been formed.

Those eyes that were now looking at him, eyebrow raised but conveying some sort of bemused amusement. Yusuf grumbled and cast his own eyes down.

‘Do I really look that weird to you?’

‘That and more’ he muttered. He couldn’t completely stop his lips from twitching upwards when he heard the other man laugh. ‘That was an insult, you know.’

‘I have no choice but to be happy, in that case. Compared with what you called me when we first met, those are love words.’

‘What would you even know of love, priest?’

‘Not much’ the other easily conceded after a contemplative pause. ‘Only that it’s not for me to know. That its true nature can’t be put into human language.’

‘Not in yours, maybe’ Yusuf raised, with a dismaying hint of playfulness in his voice. Instead of playing into it, however, Nicoló looked into him, long and serene as he gently considered. As of right now, meeting that gaze, Yusuf could be fooled into thinking the man unable to bring another creature harm.

‘Maybe you could’ answered the other finally, then took a sip of his own drink. He didn’t elaborate on it nor the sudden detachedness, coldness in his voice. ‘Would you agree to continue northeast, then?’

The next hour found them leaving the inn, making their way through the marketplace to secure some supplies before the next leg of their journey. Having so many people pushing against him really wasn’t helping Yusuf’s mood, so he tried to push forward as fast as he could, get it done fast, cursing under his breath every time his companion felt the need to stop and look at something.

Yusuf was on the middle of swearing that there really were better markets they’d find in their way if he really felt the need to look at trinkets, when-

‘Shit.’

Yusuf groaned as he turned around, about to ask what it was now, and then he groaned louder when he saw the cause. Nicolò’s hand was planted where his money bag was supposed to be, an indignant expression on his face as he looked to an alleyway to the right. Yusuf reacted faster; he rushed in there, Nicolò following his step.

He frowned when he realized he soon reached a dead end. What kind of thief would…? His confusion vanished a moment later, when his eyes landed on a kid, no older than twelve, whose toughened up face couldn’t hide the trembling in his hands. His clothes were fine, but worn down and dirty, and it took an instant to decide the kid had been recently orphaned or something similar, with none of the luxury of a home and none of the cunning of having grown on the streets.

Yusuf felt a sigh escape him as he heard Nicolò’s steps come to a halt beside him. Silence stretched for a few tense moments.

He looked at the other, whose face, now serene, expressed nothing else. ‘Look, how about we-’

‘Ask him if he’s alone.’

Yusuf blinked, but cautiously did as he was told. He translated the answer for Nicolò: The kid had a sibling. He didn’t add anything, for the fear in the kid’s voice needed no translation. He hoped Nicolò took that into account.

Wordlessly, without looking away, Nicolò searched his belongings and threw another bag of money the kid’s way. Then he stepped towards the wall, making a space between him and Yusuf that the kid rushed through a second later. The both of them watched him go until he disappeared at a corner.

‘We can afford starving, but they can’t’ Nicolò stated simply, as if Yusuf had demanded an explanation. ‘I won’t ask you to buy me food or anything, I’ll figure it out.’

Yusuf didn’t say anything, just looked at him out the corner of his eye, then quietly made his way back into the market. He couldn’t help thinking that the smile he’d just seen on Nicolò’s face suited him so much more than any war cry.

He couldn’t help thinking, either, about what must have been going on in the soul of this man, who was so good at violence but clearly not born for it, when he decided to join an invading army. His kindness would feel like hypocrisy, a lie to get Yusuf to let his guard down, but try as he might, he had yet to find trace of it. It was puzzling, making this man out to be the demon he’d seen before. He had to wonder what hatred must have lurked in his soul to make him so vicious, and he fell silent.

Their ride out of town was silent, too, the only sound that of the horses’ walk. Yusuf must have been less discreet than he thought, or Nicolò more perceptive than he seemed, because the next time he spoke it was tentative, eyes pointedly fixed on the road ahead.

‘I know it won’t change what I’ve done, but I will do my best to put some good into the world. To never raise sword or fist again, not unless I absolutely must.’

Yusuf still said nothing, and his silence was peacefully accepted. He briefly pondered the lack of hatred in his heart, different than the one he’d felt when he was done murdering him and his anger had merely burned out. He felt like he had accepted Nicolò’s presence, and he didn’t know what to feel about that.

___

Nicolò didn’t know what to think about any of this. For as long as he - they - had a set path under their feet and a goal on their horizon, he had been able to focus on the task at hand and avoid any metaphysical wondering about what exactly had been happening to him and what its implicatures were about the state of his soul. As long as he could keep his mind on the here and now, he knew he could stop himself from digging himself into that familiar pit of existential dread.

It was starting to get hard to stay optimistic about their course, however, and the more he wondered if they were adrift in the wind rather than walking an invisible yet clearly defined path, the shakier his prayers became. After a couple months spent wandering the Levant and its immediate surroundings, foolishly hoping that if they both had met there then there might be a chance the two women were near too, they finally agreed to move on eastward through the silk road. They had followed it until they found themselves in Turpan. In Nicolò’s mind, he’d had no doubt their search would have been fruitful by now, but all they had come across was the decision whether to go on or turn back.

Their dreams, more erratic and far in-between as time went on, had shown some kind of architecture that Nicolò, to his dismay, was nearly sure they’d left behind at some point. If the dreams were indeed showing him the present and not times past or things that had never existed in the first place - and he wasn’t about to tell Yusuf he was beginning to share his doubts about that - then the two women were going westwards, and the two pairs had managed to cross each other at some point of the way and not notice it. Or maybe they weren’t on the silk road at all. Or maybe they didn’t want to be found. Or maybe they didn’t exist. Nicolò wanted to scream.

What kind of divine sign was this? If God wanted something from him, wouldn’t it be clearer to send an angel, or some vision he could actually understand? He’d have loved to put it down on Yusuf’s infidel presence at his side, but he was more inclined to think that God had simply decided to leave him adrift, a punishment that was long due. These thoughts filled him with guilt and fear in equal measure. 

He found himself with the added frustration of knowing he’d be fascinated by all he was seeing were it not for the growing fear of his soul being cast into eternal hell as an abomination of nature. It was petty, all things considered, but he needed something petty to complain about or he’d go mad.

In any case, after nearly two weeks of resting and stocking up in Turpan, they were ready to turn back, their bodies healthier than when they arrived, their spirits lower. Nicolò’s, at least. After all this time, he still had a hard time deciphering what might go on in his companion’s mind unless explicitly told.

They were just leaving the city behind, the sun’s light only hinted on the horizon at their backs as they hoped to make good distance before they arrived at some inn along the way to take shelter from the worst hours of the merciless desert heat. Barely anyone was on the street except some city guards every now and then. Sleepily, Nicolò nodded at a couple of them who stood watch near the edge of the city, barely even registering their presence at all.

Then, the second he had his back to them, he felt himself being grabbed. He yelped while he could before a hold around his neck chocked the air on its way out, and he felt a knife being pressed on his lower back.

What the…?

Before he could even fully register what was going on, Yusuf had raised his hands placatingly and started talking, no shadow of uneasiness in his voice or features for even a second. The man behind Nicolò said something, gruff and pissed off, but Yusuf merely smiled and shook his head, then went on talking, quick but serene, full of confidence. The other guard replied, somewhat less vehement than his companion, and then, out of all the things he could be worrying about, Nicolò found himself once again wondering why exactly Yusuf had ever needed to learn how to raise a sword at all. This was far from being the first time he saw the man wielding his precisely aimed words, smart but never empty, to more effect than any blade could ever make.

He wasn’t even sure what the man was saying. He could make out only a few words - Yusuf had picked up the local language with far more ease than him, but being fair to himself, Nicolò’s mind wasn’t really focused on linguistics right now either. He wriggled himself a little, trying to get the knife to press a bit less uncomfortably against him, and the hold tightened. Nicolò went quiet, and focused on Yusuf’s gentle features, the soft sound of his voice, and he smiled. He felt no nerves at all.

He was in a strange city on a corner of the world he knew nothing about, defenseless as he was potentially about to be stabbed by a stranger speaking in a language he didn’t understand, his fate on the hands of a man he had repeatedly killed, and he was calm. It wasn’t even the knowledge that he would come back. He, simply and plainly, at some point of the last year, had come to trust not only that Yusuf could help him, but would doubtlessly do so. God help him, he trusted him with his life. A month into their partnership, Nicolò would have tried to fight the man off and lose his life in the process. Now he waited.

He couldn’t pinpoint the moment that trust came into being. He hadn’t brought it up, afraid that his own messy words would chase it out of existence.

Sure as day, it wasn’t long before the grip on his body loosened as the words above him became less uncertain. Yusuf’s eyes met his own, he nodded imperceptibly, and Nicolò screamed as he freed himself and turned on his captor. He heard Yusuf tackle the other one, and seconds later, it was done.

Nicolò examined the unconscious face of the man who had held him. As he’d suspected, it was the same man he had fought off the previous day, when he had been abusing his power against some less fortunate citizens. As he had found out, soldiers were the same here as they were back home.

Half an hour later they were leaving the city, a brand new bag of coins to their name.

‘Thank you’ Nicolò said after a while of comfortable silence. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Yusuf sporting a pleased smile, but the man said nothing in reply. Nicolò smiled too.

He knew he and Yusuf would part ways, once this was over. Yusuf would go home, as he had repeatedly said, and Nicolò, not sure if he could call Genova his home anymore, had no idea what he’d do. Not follow him and impose his presence anymore, for sure. Still, he hoped they could part as friends. Of the many regrets weighing his soul down, meeting Yusuf wasn’t one of them.

___

Yusuf had tried to keep an open mind, but he’d had ideas about what was happening to them. A curse. A punishment. A mission. Something with purpose.

Now he looked at his future and all he saw was an abyss, and in it there was nothing.

His eyes felt dry, but he found himself unable to blink, pupils fixed on the flickering of the dying hearth. It was a cold night, he should add some more wood, but he couldn’t find the will to rise up and do it. His hands were clasped together, so hard it hurt, but he couldn’t do anything about that either. He could only stare at the fire.

He had so much to think about, but the more he tried to, the more he could only think of the fire. The flickers of the flames were fascinating.

He was violently brought back into his own flesh when a hand landed on his shoulder. He startled, blinked repeatedly as he turned to the woman - Quynh. He knew her name now. He’d seen her face in dreams so many times, had learned her features by heart, yet he didn’t feel any less like he was face to face with a complete stranger. He knew her smile was supposed to be an attempt at comforting him, and so he found himself doing his best to return it, but he felt it fall short even as it formed on his lips. Her smile took a sadder hint, and he had to appreciate her decision to just leave him be. Squeezing his shoulder, she rose and retired to the same room the other woman, Andromache, had previously gone to.

Yusuf rose as well and exited the small house they were spending the night in. Cold air hit him and made him shiver, but he paid no mind. Looking up at the darkness above he saw the same sky, the same stars he’d seen every night at Kairouan, closer here in the mountains of Persia than they’d ever been. He could name the vast majority of them, could recall precise moments when he’d used them as his guiding light. Why, then, did he look at the sky and see nothing but that abyss that loomed over his future? Why didn’t they make his soul feel closer to home?

Home. Home. When he’d last left home, nearly three years ago, he’d had a fond father. A caring mother. A younger brother and two younger sisters. A pleasant and beautiful betrothed with whom he was supposed be happy, have children, eventually fall in love. He’d had a future, bright as the sun.

What did he have now, if anything at all? The prospect of eternal loneliness, of leaving everything that made him himself behind. Two women he trusted even less than he knew, who surely had to be lying, for they told him the best he could do for his family was to let them believe he’d died in battle. And Nicolò di Genova.

He went back inside, feeling sick under the boundless firmament, and slammed the door shut behind him. His eyes went to the seat across where he’d been, where he, the man he’d spent the last year and three months with, stared into the fire in same exact stupor as Yusuf mere minutes before. Had he been like that the whole time? He couldn’t tell. He’d paid him no attention at all for nearly an hour.

His face was blank, unreadable. A year together, a shared curse, most likely the same thoughts rushing through their minds, and yet Yusuf felt like him and this man were in different worlds altogether.

Nico felt like a mystery. One he’d gotten used to, become familiar with, befriended. Now, he looked at him and found it hard to recall anything he’d learned about the man. He was a question that had taken the place that Yusuf’s life was supposed to fill.

He felt like he should be angry. At him, at them, at God. Instead, he slowly made his way towards him and sat at his side. No reaction at all. Maybe he’d feel that anger, come morning, but as of right now, he let himself seek comfort in the familiarity that had managed to grow between them, hoping it existed at all.

Silence stretched. It wasn’t the tense silence from their beginnings. It wasn’t the friendly one from last week. It just was.

‘I was supposed to die’ Nico finally said, his voice far too weak, far too loud. Their eyes met. Yusuf couldn’t begin deciphering what he saw in them. His hands, joined on his lap, shaked. ‘I went to the Holy Land knowing I was never supposed to make it out alive. I made my peace when I died. Then I woke up, and I thought you were a demon I was meant to slay. Then I thought we were meant to do something meaningful, the two of us. And then I thought I had been punished and had somehow dragged you down with me. Now I… I don’t know what to think, Yusuf.’ His voice was shaking. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and had recovered his numb calm when he next spoke. ‘I wish to apologize. For having thought that way of you.’

Yusuf knew he was good with words. It was what he had had as his first and last weapon throughout all his life, it was nearly what defined him at times. He knew he could theoretically think of something appropriate to say with enough haste. Still, as he looked into Nico’s eyes, as he fought the knot on his throat, the sting on his eyes, he found himself speechless for the first time in twenty years.

He looked forward, trying to figure out what exactly it was, of all of it, that had left him this powerless. He inhaled, slow and deep, trying as hard as he could to make away with the lump on his throat that stopped the air from getting in, the words from getting out. When he failed to do so, he found himself hesitantly reaching out to touch Nico’s hand. Not hold it, just touch it. He didn’t know if he meant to comfort him, comfort himself, or whether there was any difference at all at this point. A sign of sympathy, of partnership, between two men who faced the same void.

He was pointedly looking at the fire so he couldn’t tell how Nico reacted to it, but the man wasn’t pulling away, so he assumed it was okay.

(It wasn’t okay, nothing was.)

‘I also wanted to believe we had a purpose.’ He finally found his voice, and he realized he didn’t care that it was speaking on its own. ‘I also wanted to blame you for what happened to us. I… I also am scared, Nico. I’m very scared.’

They looked at each other, and Yusuf felt a few teardrops fall down his cheek. Still, he felt compelled to smile, and he felt a strange comfort in seeing Nico smiling right back at him, as weak and scared as himself.

‘I forgive you, by the way. And… Just because they don’t know if we have a purpose, that doesn’t mean we don’t, right?’

He wasn’t sure if he said it for his own benefit or Nico’s, if he believed it or not. He just knew it got another smile out of him, which eased one into his own lips, in between a few more tears.

No, it wasn’t okay, none of it. But right now he wanted to believe that, with this not-quite-stranger at his side, it might eventually be.


End file.
